


Stargazing

by whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Brooklyn, Cuddles, Fourth of July, M/M, Making Out, New York City, Picnics, Pie, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11397801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: "You know what?  Let's get out of the city," Steve suggested after dinner.(In which Steve has a very quiet birthday.)





	Stargazing

Birthdays were funny. It was not as though Steve _felt_ over ninety, whatever over ninety was meant to feel like; indeed, in actual terms, the state of his actual waking years and rate of cellular growth and decay and all that business, he was turning thirty-four. This did not stop the grandpa jokes from coming at him with more ferocity than ever. He remembered Bucky's hundredth a few months earlier. He was prepared.

(This was not to say that Steve was above availing himself of a senior's discount from time to time at certain fine retailers. What kind of idiot would turn down a free slice of pie with the purchase of any lunch?)

"You know what? Let's get out of the city," Steve suggested after dinner, the night before. They had just finished the last of the leftover spaghetti. Bucky was scouring the especially difficult bits out of the bottom of the heavy cast iron pot, but stopped as soon as Steve spoke.

"What, right now?" He could see the flicker of worry in Bucky's expression, the tightening shoulders, the readiness to grab the emergency duffel bag from under the bed and run. Steve shook his head, and Bucky softened.

"For my birthday," he clarified, slotting the clean spatula into the cutlery drawer. "We could drive upstate, maybe. It'd be nice to see the stars."

"You sure?" asked Bucky. "You sure you don't want to... go to Sam's place for no reason?"

"You guys aren't planning a surprise party or anything, are you?" Steve asked him. They had all been oddly quiet on the subject in the weeks preceding it. Sam almost seemed to mention his birthday, once, but was silenced by an elbow in the ribs from Natasha.

"What? No, that's, no, of course not," scoffed Bucky, but Steve could not help but notice the several minutes of frantic texting that followed as soon as the dishes were done.

The next morning, they gathered up a good hamper of snacks from the supermarket - crusty bread and soft cheese, smoked salmon, little strawberries and blueberries like bright little jewels, and raspberry rhubarb pie.

"Pie, Steve?" asked Bucky, stabbing the coordinates for Bear Mountain into the map. "I don't think birthday pie's a thing."

"Then let's make it a thing," shrugged Steve. The only rental car available was a slightly well-loved compact model, which just about accomodated them with a disconcerting clunk of the adjustable seats.

"You _are_ the birthday boy," conceded Bucky, resting his hand on Steve's knee as they pulled out of the lot. "And I'm not gonna say no to pie."

And so they drove: past the parks and the townhouses, down the expressway past the old warehouses, then over the neighbourhood where they grew up - he had yet to investigate whether their old apartment was still there; perhaps, he thought, it was easier to remember it, then to know - over the bridge and along the riverbank. Brooklyn was beautiful from across the water: the gentle peaks of all the different little buildings were so comforting to him. Bucky had been quiet since the expressway, gazing out the window and letting the stream of kind, earnest folk songs drift from the radio through the car uninterrupted.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve asked him.

"I love this dumb city," he said.

"Me too," said Steve.

Neighbourhoods gave way to bridges, and houses gave way to trees: it was almost impossible to imagine from the thick of the city that they were barely any distance at all from wilderness. Bucky had always liked to talk about disappearing into the mountains when they were young, eating toast and beans cooked over a campfire, and sleeping under the stars. It had sounded so romantic then.

Turns out it was pretty romantic, after all.

Somewhere among the green and the waning sunlight, they found a quiet space a little distance from the road, rolled out a blanket, and picnicked while they waited for the stars.

"This is pretty nice," mused Steve, watching Bucky watching the darkening sky.

"It'd better be," replied Bucky. "If we'd driven all the way out here, cancelled the party - "

"So you _did_ have a surprise party planned?"

"I said _if_ , punk," protested Bucky. "If we'd driven all the way out there and you'd said, 'actually, the mountains are boring,' then so help me..."

"We'd still find a way to make them interesting," said Steve, letting his fingers slip beneath the collar of Bucky's shirt. It was hard to say for certain in the soft evening light, but Steve knew Bucky well enough to know when he was blushing. 

"Shit. Fuck. Goddamn," Bucky turned away, cursing to himself.

"Buck, what's going on?" Steve worried then. Perhaps he should have said yes to the surprise party.

"I didn't get any candles for your birthday pie," he said, his gaze fixed in disappointment at a patch of grass.

"I'll make a wish on the stars," Steve assured him.

"Do you think that'll work?" asked Bucky.

"Sure it will," Steve smiled. "How about... that one?"

He pointed at an especially twinkly star, that almost seemed to be moving. Sometimes, in the midst of the city and the sleepless lights of its sleepless people, one was apt to forget just how many stars there were, and how many could be seen just a small distance away.

"That's an airplane." Bucky shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "Dummy."

"Okay, okay, how about that one?"

Steve pointed at another star, smaller, but definitely not aircraft. Bucky nodded.

"That's a good star," he said.

"Okay," Steve agreed. He looked up at the star, and whispered his wish.

"Well, when will we know if it's come true?" asked Bucky.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see," shrugged Steve.

"What should we do while we wait?"

Bucky seemed to have an idea, though: they tangled together slowly, the fragrant red of the strawberries still sweet on Bucky's lips. Every kiss sent stars twinkling through him.

"Well, how about that," he said at last, flushed and breathless.

"What?" Bucky raised an eyebrow.

"Guess stars do sometimes grant birthday wishes after all," beamed Steve.

"Jeezus, what a fuckin' goof," laughed Bucky.

"Yeah, but I'm the birthday goof," countered Steve, letting his hand slide between Bucky's legs.

Bucky gasped at the sudden contact. "So," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss behind Steve's ear, "did you make any other wishes?"

"If I tell you, they might not come true," admonished Steve, fumbling with the buttons down Bucky's thin flannel shirt, too many and too cumbersome.

"Guess I'll just have to guess, then," agreed Bucky, mapping a constellation of kisses along Steve's jawline.

Bucky was, it turned out, very good at guessing.

**Author's Note:**

> [Here, have a soft song for Steve's birthday.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOiH3__qhuc)
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hello on tumblr!](http://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com)


End file.
